To Stay the Morning Star
by Spindleshanking
Summary: Fairies do not feel love, not the way that humans do. Which isn't to say that fairies cannot love. Every creature, however poor, however wicked, is capable of loving another—every creature save one, and that is an existence so dark, so cold and hideous as to be unthinkable—and fairies love wholly and more purely than any other being.


Fairies do not feel love, not the way that humans do.

Which isn't to say that fairies _cannot_ love. Every creature, however poor, however wicked, is capable of loving another—every creature save one, and that is an existence so dark, so cold and hideous as to be unthinkable—and fairies love wholly and more purely than any other being. Love is in their very nature, their very being; a fundamental facet of their existence. A fairy who cannot love is not a fairy at all.

But while humans save their love, hoarding it to bestow carefully on a few precious individuals, a fairy's love is limitless, given equally and without favorites.

Of course, sometimes there are exceptions.

The Blue Fairy is aware of many things happening in many places, hears the thoughts of many people who might be in need of her help, but tonight one of them has caught her attention more than the others.

Somewhere in the world there is a little boy crying. He is sitting alone in a field beneath the light of her star, his heart full of fear and longing for an absent father, and he is crying. She has seen this boy in this field many times before, felt the bone-deep ache of his sorrow and loneliness, and wanted to be able to dry his tears. But all magic is governed by rules. This boy has not asked for her help—he does not dream that there can be a solution to his problems, so he does not think to look for one. And until he does she is supposed to let him find his own way.

Tonight, however, she thinks that his unspoken longing is close enough to a wish.

Since he has not called to her, she does not appear as she normally would, in a shower of fairy dust and light. This boy is lonely and afraid. He aches to be comforted and so she takes on a more human size, coming up behind him and, fluffing her skirts out beneath her, sits beside him in the long grass. He frowns at her, taking in her fine clothing and the shimmer of fairy dust, then scrubs at his eyes with the coarse fabric of his sleeve and sniffs a few times. Still he does not speak. He is still a child, but only barely, already on the cusp of manhood and she knows that he only cries here because no one can see.

"You're magic. My mother says not to trust magic," the boy decides after a moment, his voice small and still tight with unshed tears.

"A wise thing to do," she replies. "Magic can be used for good or evil. It's to be treated with caution," her thoughts flit briefly to the Other, "but I have no intention of harming you."

"That's what something bad would say, too," he says, but seems to relax anyway. "Why are you here, then?"

The Blue Fairy gives him her kindest smile. "I saw your tears. You looked like you could use a friend."

They sit in silence for a while as he seems to think this over.

"I haven't got any friends," he says finally, simply, as if this isn't a terrible thing for a boy his age to say. She knows that many people who feel themselves friendless only need to open their eyes to those around them, but in this case she fears it to be true. There are few children in the nearby village and not once in all the times she has turned her attention to this field and the house on the edge of it has she seen another child here.

Fairies are not tactile, at least not with humans. Small and hollow boned in their natural forms, they are far too likely to be crushed. Still the Blue Fairy cannot resist the desire to reach out, tucking an errant strand of mousy brown hair behind the boy's ear.

"All the more reason to need one," she says. He ducks his head away from her touch, embarrassed, and doesn't respond. It's dark, but she thinks he blushes.

They sit in companionable silence like this for a while as around them the stars shine down and the crickets sing. She stretches out her legs, enjoying the warm night air. The boy plucks a piece of tall meadow hay and occupies himself resolutely breaking it into little pieces, focused on his task. He seems to be working up the courage to speak, and so after a while she pushes gently, "Would you care to tell me why you were crying?"

She knows already—even if she hadn't heard his thoughts, she has seen enough of this boy's life and can practically feel the misery radiating from his small body. But the Blue Fairy also knows the catharsis of sharing one's worries, the relief that comes from releasing a sorrow that's been bottled up for too long.

"It's nothing, I- I just miss my father," he says at length, tears hovering on the edge of his words.

"Where is he?"

He doesn't look at her, eyes fixed on the pile of broken grass in his lap, but now that the catch has been released the words come spilling out, tumbling over each other almost faster than the boy can keep up. "He went off to fight. They say that there are ogres to the north, that they're terrible and vicious and they're going to destroy everything—the entire world—if we don't stop them. They say-" he chokes and pauses to wipe his nose on his sleeve. There are tears in his eyes again and she lays a hand on his shoulder, silently offering comfort and encouragement. "All the men went off to fight them. Everyone from the village, and Papa said he had to go to. I didn't want him to go. I begged him not to- it- it's just me and my mother here, and she gets so sad when he's gone. But Papa- he said he wanted to keep us safe. That was last summer. Half the other men have come back already, and the rest-" he sniffs and scrubs at his eyes. "I- I just want him to come home."

In that moment he is so small and lost, a child who has been left alone to bear a man's burden. She can feel his relief at finally voicing these fears, and knows that he has tried so hard to appear brave for the sake of his mother. After a moment she drops her arm around his narrow shoulders and pulls him gently against her side. The boy goes without protest, laying his head on her shoulder and allowing himself to be comforted. He wriggles a little to fit comfortably against her wide skirts and wraps his arms around her waist. This is enough of a wish, close enough to allow her to help. She will find this boy's father and bring him home.

Fairy magic is everywhere in their world, and wherever there is fairy magic there her power extends. While the boy quiets himself on her shoulder she reaches out, following a golden thread of connection—the love between a parent and a child. This is the strongest form of magic there is, unbreakable by any length of time or distance, and it will lead her to the man she seeks no matter where he might be.

She is taken aback when the thread ends, frayed and dimming, not on some distant battlefield or garrison, but on a road not far from the village. There is a small party of men there, battered and bruised, clad in bloody bandages and the tattered remains of soldiers' dress. Despite the late hour and their haggard condition they keep a steady pace, though some of them limp or lean heavily on walking sticks. She feels their weariness, and the Blue Fairy spares a bit of magic to lend strength to the wounded. Ogres, she knows, do not fight like men. They destroy—they ravage everything in their path—showing neither mercy, nor pity, nor fear. Only the most courageous would stand up against them, and of those only the strongest have any chance in a fair fight. These men are fortunate to be alive.

However it is not to them that the sparkling thread of tugs pulls her, but to the cart which they take turns leading behind them.

The cart that she realizes is piled high with the bodies of those who were not so fortunate.

She closes her eyes and allows herself to hold the boy just a little tighter. Magic can do many things, but it cannot bring back the dead. And while there have been—and goodness knows there will continue to be—times when, even with all her power, there is nothing she can do to help those who call on her for aid, it never gets any easier.

"Your father," she begins quietly, but all her words seem to elude her. "I think…"

The boy pulls away just a bit, enough to meet her eyes with a wary mixture of hope and fear, "Yes?"

She should tell him. She must tell him. It is cruel not to, to allow a flicker of hope to survive where there can be none. But as the child stares up at her, brown eyes wide and still glimmering on the edge of tears, she thinks that it would be worse, would be wrong to crush that hope before it was necessary to. There is so much evil and wickedness in the world, so much injustice, and this boy was still so innocent to it all. She would let him keep that innocence just one more day.

"I think that he will be returned to you soon," she says finally, voice wavering as she takes refuge behind something that is neither a lie nor the absolute truth. "Everything will be alright,"

But he does not hear the untruth behind her words, only the comfort that they offer. A bit of the tension eases out of him, like a weight has been lifted, and he relaxes back against her side.

"Thank you," he says quietly, muffled against her shoulder as she strokes his hair. She cannot see everything of this boy's future—she does not know his fate, although she can see that one day he will play an important part in ending this conflict. But this war between men and ogres will not be won any time soon and the next few years will not be easy for him. She can't make them any easier, she wishes that she could. The least she can give him is this—comfort and companionship, and a few more days of hope.

They sit like this for a while, comfortable beneath the stars, until a cry breaks the silence.

It is a woman's voice, high and reedy with fear. "Son? A-are you out here, dear?"

Across the field the bobbing light of a lantern becomes visible, working its way towards them, and the boy pulls away from her quickly, as if embarrassed to be caught. He stands and brushes the grass from his trousers before turning and offering his hand to help her up.

"I'm right here, Mama," he calls back. "I'm alright."

"What have I told you about being out alone at night? You could get hurt, love. Come inside the house."

He darts a glance back at the Blue Fairy, as if asking her leave and she smiles, ushering him towards his mother. "Off with you, then."

"Will you come see me again?"

"I'll try. And if you ever need me, just look for that blue star there on the edge of the trees and think of me. I'll hear you and come if I can."

"Thank you," he says again, ducking in to give her a quick hug.

"Rumplestiltskin!" the boy's mother snaps. "I told you to come inside!"

"She's angry." He winces. "She never calls my name unless she's angry. Goodnight miss."

He is gone in quick, long-legged strides, darting through the grass towards the lantern. Returning with a shimmer of magic to her fairy form, she watches him rejoin his mother. She watches the woman fuss and fret, picking grass from his hair and wrapping her shawl around his shoulders despite the warmth of the night, and the boy, chastened and shoulders hunched, allows himself to be lead back to the cottage.

The Blue Fairy watches over them until the boy and his mother are safely inside the house. A few more minutes will make no difference, though she has lingered perhaps longer than she should already and there is much to be done, many more all over the world like this boy, who need her help.

"Goodnight Rumplestiltskin."


End file.
